


The Way it Ends

by Ann7121



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Other, some torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121
Summary: Post Gauda Prime.  Can Avon save his companions and the rebellion?





	The Way it Ends

"How many have you killed, Avon? How many do you remember killing?"

"Does it matter?" he wonders. Of all the questions they could ask him, this seems the least informative. And yet he struggles to recall. He is no longer sure whether the questioner is another person or a voice in his own mind but he wants to answer because he's had enough of being hurt- and anyway now he's killed Blake there's no point in resisting. He supposes he owes them some co-operation and he has an unexpected desire to justify himself. But the pain confuses him and he can't focus, can't...

"Cato." The name emerges from a forgotten place, surprising both him and his interrogator, to judge from the puzzled tone in which she responds..

" Cato? Who was...?" She seems to consult others because he thinks he can hear voices somewhere in the background -voices he feels he should be able to identify. 

"Ah yes, the Hommick's Techie," she continues smoothly. 

She doesn't want him to realise he has surprised her; that she doesn't know who Cato is. Is she Federation or rebel then? Could be either. He files this insight away, hoping he may be able to exploit it later. Though how, he is too exhausted to work out. Why does he bother when he could just relax his will, surrender and it would end at last? Habit he supposes. The impulse to do all he can to survive seems to define him. 

Her voice nags at him once more and a sudden burst of accompanying pain forces him to focus on her words. He pushes through it to listen.

"Why do you remember killing Cato, Avon? You hardly knew him."

"Not my fault," he gasps out. "Not my guilt. Like Blake." 

She does not respond immediately. In the silence he allows himself to drift into the dark, leaving behind the hurt, confusion, mistakes as he floats away. Then a tiny pin of light irritates his closed eyes, forcing him to surface. He becomes aware of a hum, like a trapped, angry bee, emanating from somewhere behind his head. A sound he nearly has a name for. 

"Like Blake you say? Killing Cato was the same as killing Blake? " The voice is back, insistent, blaming. He thinks he might have heard it before but where and when escapes him. "Why would you feel no guilt for shooting Blake?" it accuses him. “He was unarmed when you shot him and he trusted you. How can you justify that?"

How indeed? 

“I tried." He fumbles for the right explanation but the words are difficult to form. "Tried to keep him, safe. Promised...promised I'd betray him but then my brother... told me Anna was dead. No need to tell them anything so I tried to keep him safe," he tells her, " But I failed..." 

He shouldn't mention his brother. A different pain courses through his mind, his body, even to the tips of his fingers, an overwhelming rush of guilt for his failure.

"Promised? You promised to betray Blake? Who did you make that promise to? " 

He shakes his head. She doesn't understand at all and he has no wish to enlighten her.

"Who did you promise, Avon? What did you promise?"

Another short burst of pain which he stubbornly resists. He won't answer. She can't make him answer. He doesn't want to remember. 

Someone takes hold of his arm while her voice presses him again, "Who Avon?"

No!

"Who?"

The sharpness in her voice is matched by a sudden sharpness in his hand and he feels an icy liquid enter his veins. Truth serum. A shard of steel slices along the tracery of nerves, seeking the limbic system of his brain. It strikes and helpless, his past spurts in an urgent mess from his mouth. 

 

***

"That was horrible." Dayna shakes uncontrollably with distress and anger. "How could we do that to him?"

Vila can think of several answers to that. 

They were hastily ushered from the interrogation centre when Avon started to yell. Now they wait to find out what Avalon's decided to do about them.

The room where they've been left is large, with comfortable bunks, a table and a bank of chairs. A door leads off it to what, on investigation, proves to be washroom facilities. It doesn't feel like a prison cell but the window which overlooks a grassy compound is barred and Soolin, who is trying the door that leads back into the base finds it locked. 

She now turns back to her companion and places a cool arm around the shaking girl.

"We had to know, Dayna." she tells her soothingly. Although they are much the same age, she is the more worldly of the two, but even her calm surface has been ruffled by what they have just witnessed. "If Avon was in the pay of the Federation, it would have explained a lot."

" Are you convinced he wasn't, then? How do we know he was telling the truth? " Vila, has thrown himself moodily onto one of the bunks, and is openly bitter. In his opinion, Avon is guilty and deserves to suffer; he resents the way he seems suddenly to have become a victim. 

"You were there when Avalon pumped him full of Narcosynthonate, Vila. Even Avon would have trouble keeping his control with his system flooded with that stuff. Besides Orac was monitoring his brain waves throughout. Avon wasn't lying," Tarrant spells out. He looks pale. A little sick. 

"And you believe we can trust Orac? Avon could easily have told it to lie to us." 

"Well we can't interrogate it to find out, can we?" Tarrant snaps, exasperated.

Orac has been in the hands of Avalon's experts since it was discovered in the abandoned flyer. 

Incensed that his views are being dismissed so easily, Vila demands angrily. "Am I the only one who cares about what Avon did to Blake? No, don't answer that. Just look at the facts. Avon shot him three times and Blake wasn't even armed! I'm no genius but it seems to me that proves Avon was either insane or more likely he sold him out. All that in there", Vila gestures vaguely in the direction of the interrogation room, "could have been acting. We know Avon managed to hold out against Federation torturers and I bet they were tougher than Avalon's lot."

Dayna shudders again, recalling Avon's screams as neuralgic spasms scraped along his nerves.

"Vila," she pleads, "no-one could act that amount of pain"

"And even when we knew he was sane he wasn't noted for telling us the truth." Vila continues mercilessly, rejecting the picture her words stir up. So what if Avon screamed, twisted, cried? They sedated him pretty quickly. All the booze in the world hadn't been able to take away the terror he'd felt hiding in that storage compartment after Malador. And Blake had had to suffer the pain of three bullet wounds as well as the knowledge that he'd been betrayed. Yes betrayed, whatever weaselly excuses Avon might have given them in the interrogation room. "Blake may even be dead, or dying and you lot don't even care," he hurls at them accusingly.

"Oh give it a rest, will you, Vila?" The dull ache from his injuries makes Tarrant even shorter tempered than usual. He has been watching from the window, trying unsuccessfully to find out what is going on but now he turns to face him fully. "We didn't know Blake and, given the circumstances of our first meeting, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to," he continues testily. "There was something pretty suspicious about his set up on Gauda - we've all got a price on our heads and he certainly didn't act as if he was our friend. Even I thought he had turned against us and we've still only Deva's word that he used the bounty hunting as a cover. Avon had every right to be suspicious and if Blake had had had the sense to stand still when he was asked, Avon wouldn't have felt he had to shoot him. He had an armed guard with him, remember?" He stretches his arms experimentally, grunting as pain stabs along his injured side. "But then," he continues reflectively, " if Avon hadn't shot Blake, Arlen would have arrested him anyway so it's all one. It may even have been for the best. Think what Servalan would have done to him once he was in her hands!" 

"Avon was trying to protect us Vila," Dayna adds. "You heard what the Federation had done to him. He didn't know who to trust anymore and he thought Blake had set us up." 

"I heard what he claimed the Federation did to him which actually didn't explain why he shot Blake at all." Vila hugs his legs, rocking miserably but his attitude remains defiant. "And protect us? Now that is a good one. How did you dream that one up? When did Avon ever care about protecting us? Protect himself more like. Avon's never given a toss about the rest of us."

"Vila," Dayna protests furiously. 

"They're right Vila," Soolin joins in, supporting Dayna. "Why do you think those Troopers were using stun settings? They had orders to capture us alive. If Avon hadn't started shooting and taken them by surprise, then Blake's fighters would never have had a chance. Servalan would still be living and we'd be her prisoners. Avalon would never have got to us in time. She owes Avon." 

Vila turns his face away in disgust. They owe Avon nothing in his view. Dayna still shocked at having had to be part of the brutal interrogation of a man she thinks of as family, reacts to Soolin's words with passionate disbelief. 

"So if Avalon has cause to be grateful to Avon, why did she torture him? And why did we let her?" she demands.

"Because he did shoot Blake and we had to to know why, " Soolin reminds her gently.

***

As suddenly as it faded, Avon's consciousness floods back and he gasps faintly, unsure of where he is. The room he is lying in is dark and there are people talking softly behind him. They haven't noticed he's awake yet. That's good. He doesn't want them to know. He's not keen for the torture to resume and he has a memory of hurting badly, although he is not in pain now. He moves fractionally, experimentally and discovers he is attached to some sort of drip. He must be receiving medical care, he concludes. Getting him fit again for the next round.

A rustle indicates the people are coming nearer and he closes his eyes, controlling his breathing as they bend over him. Behind their closed lids, his eyes register that the light level above the bed has risen slightly. He is aware of hands that gently attach electrodes to his temples, that the flow of liquid from his drip has ceased. 

"Will be recover?" a soft voice enquires. 

"Too early to say. Best to let him wake up naturally. Give it time." 

The light dims again, leaving him in alone in the darkness once more, with just an elusive faint buzzing coming from behind his head. He tries to raise himself to discover its source but his head swims so much he is glad to let it sink back down. He's sure there's something urgent he must resolve, something to do with the sound he can hear but for the moment, he's too tired to work out what it is. 

The buzz is slightly too high pitched to be soothing but it does feel familiar. For some reason he feels safer because of it, safe enough to relax his guard a little, allow sleep to claim him. He is so very tired. He has just drifted into a state of calm when, without warning, the sharp voice is back:

"Who did you promise, Avon? 

Full of the drug, he is forced to answer her.

" Alta Morag... She told me Anna.... had been arrested when they discovered my fraud... They were going to kill her. The London..deliberate. I had to...Blake...befriend him and then report back information to save Anna.."

"And did you? Is that what you were doing during your time with Blake?"

"Didn't...have...to...report. My brother...sent a note to me...Don't know why he risked so much. No love lost. His note said Anna was dead. Nothing I did would save her...A Faustian pact ..." He has to fight against the laughter that rises at the absurdity of it all but which if released will wash away the truth he must share. " They wanted me to agree," he manages to get out. "Lose soul...save soulmate... But she was already dead..."

"You're saying they placed you on The London so you could befriend Blake and report back any secrets he might let slip about rebel activity? That's a lot of trouble for potentially little reward. He might have said nothing."

"Ahhhh." The drug burns in his brain forcing the groan, compelling him to explain. "Blake's conditioning was breaking down that's why they framed him. But then they discovered they had a rebel mole in Security and that Blake knew the name. Too late!" He grimaces at the savage irony. "They were checkmated by their own lies. They had to go through with trial but it took Blake out of their hands...So they decided to use me." 

" How could you help them? On Cygnus Alpha? Why did they believe you would even try?" The voice is scornful, disbelieving.

" I've already told you." He's exhausted by this circling around points he has explained. "They believed his conditioning would eventually break down completely. I was to stay with him and find out the name. They promised me that Anna would be released if I did...so I had to try... But when I found out they had lied..."

A soft voice behind him, murmurs a suggestion. She responds to it immediately 

" You might still have gone ahead. Found out other things for them. It could have been in your interest..."

He is furious. Idiots. His voice is hoarse but takes on a cutting edge of ice.

"You think I would help anyone who I thought was responsible for Anna's death? " His voice breaks on a cough but he continues venomously, " Use your intelligence if you have any. You know I can't lie to you. The stuff you've given me ensures that I have to tell you the truth. And even if you believe that I am super-human and can somehow resist its effects, you have Orac and you can always ask..."

Orac. Understanding snaps him back to the present as he identifies that high pitched buzz. He's wired to Orac. Of course.

"Hello Orac", he says softly into the darkness. 

+I see you have regained consciousness Kerr Avon+ the little computer replies unemotionally, it's voice pernickety, fussy. +Do you wish me to alert your doctors to this fact?+

"No!" He knows he has something he must do. " No." he repeats more urgently. " Listen, Orac. This is a direct order which takes precedence over any other command. You must do everything in your power to stop anyone from finding out I have regained consciousness until I tell you otherwise. Is that understood?"

+Perfectly. Do you wish me to explain how I shall achieve your instructions?+

"That will not be necessary, thank you." He feels as if his brain has bled dry. His head is spinning again and the threat of unconsciousness drags on his eyelids. He resists its tug, focussing to make a clear request before he is swallowed up. " I do however require you to prepare a summary report of my current condition for when I am next conscious and Orac..."

+Yes Avon?+

"Make sure it's short..." he begs as he slips away, his mind closing down so fast that he does not even hear the indignant + Of course,+ as the buzzing from Orac increases in volume and rate. 

\---

By Vila's reckoning they've been held in this room for over thirty hours. It isn't a typical prison cell, but he's convinced they are prisoners. The others aren't so sure because they've been well fed and Tarrant has decided they should adopt a 'wait and see' policy. It's what they might be waiting for that troubles Vila.

None of them have slept much. Dayna has stopped breaking into tears every five minutes but she is still worrying about Avon. Soolin is uneasy without her weapons. And worrying about Avon. Tarrant's wound has troubled his sleep. And he's worried about Avon too.

As for Vila, he is too scared and miserable to rest. He's scared when he thinks about what Avalon might decided to do to them. But most of all, he's saddened that Blake is probably dead and angry that the rest of them don't seem to care one way or the other. For them, it's all about the man who shot him. And Vila doesn't want to think about him at all. 

The metallic whine of the lock, brings them anxiously to their feet as the door opens and Avalon enters. She is unarmed and alone, so Vila figures they must have passed some kind of test.

Immediately Dayna rushes up to her.

"How is he? How is Avon?" she demands

Avalon hesitates before addressing them as if she is not sure of their reaction.

"We aren't certain," she admits honestly. "His life signs are stable but he is still unconscious. This is worrying our doctors. He appears to be in some sort of coma. They have studied his psyche profile and medical records such as they are and his current read outs. Their best medical prediction is that if he wakes from the coma there is at least a fifty percent chance he will be insane, probably with permanent amnesia. We won't know until-if- he comes round."

"No!" Dayna looks one step away from madness herself, frenziedly waving her arms in an attempt to dispel her horror and Tarrant steps up behind her holding her by the shoulders as her hysteria escalates into wild, inarticulate cries. Soolin also moves to her, reassuringly and it is she who speaks to her.

"This won't help him Dayna. I know it's a shock but you need to get a grip." She pauses and looks at the girl, assessing her and, blindingly swift, she raises her hand, striking Dayna firmly on the cheek. Tarrant moves in protest.

"You didn't expect me to kiss her, did you?" she asks him with ironic amusement, standing back to assess the effect of her slap. His shock dissolves in a reluctant smile and Dayna sighs deeply.

"Thank you Soolin," she says softly as she relaxes in Tarrant's arms for a moment. Then more calmly she addresses Avalon, "A fifty percent chance? How much did torturing him increase the risk?" 

"Only fifty percent? " Vila weighs in sarcastically before Avalon can reply. " Come on, Dayna. If you ask me, it's a hundred percent certain Avon's been mad since we lost Cally and the Liberator. Not that he actually cared much about that. Losing Cally I mean." Vila tone is callous but something in his eyes suggest there is more going on inside than he wishes to admit. "But Liberator?" he continues, "His pet asset? Losing that to Servalan, now that hurt him; tipped him over the edge." 

"Ah,Vila! I was coming to you." Avalon neatly forestalls Dayna's reaction by moving in front of her to engage Vila head-on. "You've known Avon the longest of any here haven't you? "

"Well yes. I suppose so. Not that anyone can say they know Avon really. Clams are more open than he is, even on a good day. I doubt if he even confides in himself. Never mind him though. I want to know how Blake is. Is he alive? Can I see him?"

"Shall we all sit down?" Avalon gestures to the bank of chairs, which, in the tension, they have all ignored. She seems awkward as if she is having to swallow something she finds unpalatable. She reminds Vila of Blake when he was selling them some mission he had in mind, and avoiding telling them about the bits they would not be keen on. The certainty he has been trying to deny rises to the surface.

"Avalon, tell me about Blake." He pauses unwilling yet needing to say the words he's thinking. "Blake...He's dead isn't he?" he says in a rush.

"Oh yes he's dead," she replies bitterly. "Avon did a good job there. Three shots to the gut. We put him into a stasis capsule but he was pronounced dead when we reached base ." 

"So you lied to us? You lied when you said there was a chance he'd pull through. " Anger and grief swell within him as he slumps into a chair. He's so sick of being lied to. So damn sick of it. Even Blake had thought it necessary to test them. The crushing sense of futility this memory brings, the weight of his grief at the realisation that Blake is now dead, bows his head and it's a moment before he registers that she is still speaking.

"Yes I lied to you, Vila. To you all. I needed your co-operation and you were more likely to give it if you thought he was still alive. It was necessary and I'm not going to apologise for doing so. My priority was to determine whether one of you was a traitor. Whether this base was safe. Deva's account ruled out Tarrant, so that left Avon as the most likely candidate. I had to question him before he was fully recovered and I needed you all there to help me get to the truth as quickly as possible." 

"You wanted to watch our reactions to his answers as well; you were judging whether we were guilty, weren't you?" he accuses her bitterly. He is pleased to see that, although Tarrant seems to approve of the strategy, Soolin seems as angry about this as he is.

"Yes I was Vila," she acknowledges unapologetically. " These are dangerous times and losing Blake has hit us hard. If Blake hadn't saved my life I would probably have executed you all out of hand but I owed it to you all to try to find out what had happened."

"You needed Orac, you mean. You knew you couldn't use it without Avon's co-operation." 

"That's true, Vila. But if this rebellion is going to mean anything, it has to be based on justice. As I said, I owed it to you all to discover the truth." 

Avalon pauses while they digest this and then continues with a touch of defiance," You should know, I have just announced officially that Blake is recovering from wounds he sustained on Gauda Prime when he was shot by the traitor Arlen and that he is still directing the Cause from his sick bed." She waves away their startled reaction. "We needed to reassure the Alliance that it's figurehead is still with us and avoid tarnishing the reputation of Blake's second in command. Especially as we now know the shooting was a terrible misunderstanding."

"How do you expect to get away with that?" Soolin enquires neutrally, cool interest displacing her anger for the moment.

"The deception was surprisingly easy to achieve. When Blake's recruits broke into the tracking room, they found Avon straddling Blake's body, protecting him and shooting down troopers like flies. He took multiple stun hits before he collapsed but even as he went down he was still firing. They tell me they've never seen anything so heroic and the video footage, suitably edited, provides compelling corroboration for our version of events." 

"And Arlen? How will you ensure she keeps her mouth shut? Or have you already silenced her?"

Avalon does not answer Soolin directly but gives her a brief affirming nod.

"And us? " Vila demands hotly. "Will you silence us too if we refuse to go along with your charade?"

"Oh Vila," She straddles a chair and addresses him with a certainty that radiates passionately from her. "You have to understand. We are close to winning the revolution." 

Tarrant moves in disbelief and she directs her next words at him.

"The Federation is weak since the Andromedan and Galactic wars; it's forces are spread too thinly and we make sure it's kept busy. We have fermented rebellions on both the inner and outer planets and now the force left protecting Earth is small enough for the Rebel Alliance to take on with a reasonable expectation of success. In fact our strategists estimate our chances at 94%." Wryly. "Higher if we can produce a bonafide hero to lead us and in the absence of Blake that leaves..."

"Avon." Vila supplies, raising his head in disgust. Soolin, he sees, is cynically amused by this latest turn of the screw while Dayna is heartened by it and Tarrant is nodding in agreement. Only he is sick with disbelief. Blake's murderer, a hero. What a Universe! 

"Yes, Avon. We hope to announce shortly that Blake has asked him to take temporary charge of the Alliance."

"Bit difficult if he's mad and amnesiac," Vila offers sarcastically.

"Precisely." Avalon ignores the bitterness and addresses him earnestly. " And that's where you come in Vila. We, Blake's Revolution, needs your help."

"Me? This has got nothing to do with me. You leave me out, you and your revolution both. I'm the cowardly one, or haven't you heard? There's absolutely nothing I have to offer that you could possibly want."

"Nothing except your knowledge of Avon and the fact that, according to our Psych specialists, your former friendship with him may be enough to jog him awake and back to sanity. We need Avon, Vila and we need you to bring him back to us."  
\---

He is gasping, gobbets of sweat beading his brow but she is relentless. 

"Even if I am prepared to accept that you weren't working for the Federation, Avon, it still doesn't explain why you killed Blake? Why you shot an unarmed man?" 

Blake...he killed Blake...

"Set up felt wrong...why bring that girl? Why does she have a gun? Ah! Of course. We're worth more alive! Yes. That's why won't he stand still." The remembered panic grips him again.

"But he was your friend, " her voice persists, " wasn't he?"

"We always quarrelled," he admits painfully, "but I didn't want him dead. It was just too risky to put down my gun. I had to survive you see." He mind slips back to the tracking gallery and the red pulsing lights. " Stand still. Stand still idiot. Stand still. But he's coming forward. He keeps coming forward..." he coughs helplessly and a hand, firm but not ungentle, raises his head and supports it while pressing a straw to his lips. He sucks greedily, reminded of where he is, the rawness in his throat cooling as the water slides down. " And then he said he'd set us up," he explains to them hoarsely, "At least that's what I understood he said. So, I had to shoot him."

He falls silent, recalling the horror of the moment when Blake looked into his eyes and he realised he'd been wrong. 

There is a sudden movement behind him, as if someone has shifted violently and a cool voice whispers urgently, "Wait. We have to know everything." 

Not everything, he thinks. Please. Not everything. But he is unable to resist the push of the drug.

"He died," he tells the new voice. 

" Blake? Are you still talking about Blake? 

"Not Blake: my brother. She poisoned him."

"Your brother." The new voice prompts him, it's sympathy disguising a hint of confusion at this new tack. "He was poisoned? That must have made you sad. "

He pushes aside the complicated mix of feelings that rise as he remembers his brother ." It was Anna, " he tells the sympathetic voice. "Anna gave Alta Morag the idea of using me. Then she arranged it so my brother believed she had been killed. Clever. So clever. She knew he'd use his position to pass this on to me. But she had to kill him before he found out it wasn't true and exposed what she'd done. She used a neural toxin."

" So it was Anna who arranged for you to be sent to Cygnus Alpha but she didn't want you to betray Blake. And then later..."

"Later she faked her death. " At least she appears to be keeping up with him. " Anna became Sula so her cover remained intact and she could still work for the Federation." 

He pauses, fighting the drug. He really doesn't want to tell her what Orac also found out, doesn't want to hear it spoken aloud, wants to keep it to himself, hopes she won't ask any more...

" I don't understand. Why would she do that, Avon?"

No! 

But the drug's pressure is merciless and forces the answer . 

" Anna, was the mole... Don't you see. She was the mole. That's why she did it. She couldn't risk them finding it out from Blake. She believed in the rebellion and I believed in her. Fools... both of us...but I think she loved me too... When I found out she was still alive, I killed her... But I didn't know...I didn't know who she was. I didn't know about Blake either ...I thought they had both betrayed me". 

The stupidity of it all, the devastating awareness of the finality of his mistakes rises in a burst of sorrow so intense he can hardly bear it.

" I was wrong..." he admits, speaking not to those in the room but the dead who stand before him accusingly. " I'm sorry. I got it wrong!"

Pain jack-knifes without warning, threading red hot needles along the left side of his body, wringing, and twisting his muscles as he tries to withstand it. 

Vaguely he hears movement, urgent and panicked, voices:

"He's reacting to the drug. Quickly...the sedative..."

"Hold him down."

" No... Avon..."

"Get them out of here."

A groan rises in his throat, building up to a yell but then through the misting agony, a voice, annoyed, persistent, authoritative, demands to be heard.

\+ Avon. Avon. It is imperative you stop making that noise. If you continue I will be unable to follow your instructions and disguise the fact you are awake.+ 

" Orac?," he opens his eyes, muzzily allowing the present to claim him, the scream to die unvoiced. " Is that you?"

+Of course it is.+

"How long," Avon wipes his eyes with an unsteady hand, "how long this time?"

+You were unconscious for precisely two hours, five minutes and ten seconds.+

"That long? Has anything happened while I was away?" Gradually he relaxes, lets go of the remembered pain and forces himself to focus.

You have not been away. I can assure you, you have never left this room.+

"Yes, well never mind that. Have you the report I asked for?"

+I have.+

"And?" The irritating box doesn't answer and he is maddened by the delay. "Come on, Orac. I haven't got all day."

+You wish me to deliver it?+ 

With iron control born of many such exchanges, he manages to keeps his voice level.

" I wish you to deliver it," he confirms.

Communications between us are greatly facilitated if you are clear in your instructions as I have told you on many occasions.+

" I'll bear that in mind. Now get on with it."

\---

It is worse than he thought, Avon reflects when the fussy voice finishes. These children, his crew, Avalon, have no idea of the duplicity that the Federation is capable of, the wheels hidden with wheels. It's going to be up to him to sort it. 

He probably owes it to them all anyway. Years of fighting, scheming, danger and all they amount to is a mess. A fatal mess that is largely down to his mistakes.

He's too old for all this, he wants to protest. His life has bent so far out of the shape he intended for it that he can hardly recognise how it has reached this point. "How many have you killed Avon?" Not nearly as many as he will now unless he can work something out. 

With habitual control, he draws his fragmenting thoughts together, pushing aside his regrets, exhaustion, the residual aches and the fear. Painfully he pulls himself upright and swings his legs around to a sitting position. When the spinning in his head stops he asks:

"So it cannot be removed safely. That is your conclusion? "

+Correct. Any attempt to do so would be most unwise. The risk of resulting brain damage is a virtual certainty, as I have already explained. +

" It cannot be removed safely and if I do nothing, the Federation will track me here and attack this base."

Is that a question? I must ask you to be more precise...+

" I request... the odds, Orac. What are the chances of us surviving such an attack? Of me surviving one?"

+Less than one percent.+

"And if I survived, I would find myself in Federation hands," he observes flatly.

+That is the most probable outcome. Yes. But you know this Avon.+

" Avalon no longer suspects them?" 

A slight pause suggests that the machine has performed the machine equivalent of blinking at this sudden change of direction, but then it replies: 

If you mean your companions, Avalon has offered them all positions in her organisation. She is keen that you should work with her as well.+

" And killing myself is not an option," he muses.

Is that a question? Really Avon...+

"Shut up Orac."

 

Ah yes, he realises as he contemplates his next move in this endgame the Federation have devised for him, he is tired to his bones. So tired that alongside the melancholy regret that he must at last lay down the burden of his life, lies the relief that it will also, at last, be finished. There is a less than one percent chance that he will survive if he does nothing; if he simply lets it all unfold as it must. Yet he finds the idea of doing nothing unsatisfying. He would like to think that he can give the others some sort of chance to escape his fate. That his death might acquire some meaning - especially as his life has so significantly failed to represent anything so far but vain hopes and misguided intentions. 

And if he wants to give them chance he is going to need some help.

He marshals his courage, calls up every reserve of endurance and fixes his customary grin at the harsh unfairness of his existence onto his face.

Decisively, he orders, " Alright Orac. It's time for you to shine. Do your stuff and get me Vila."

\---

Vila doesn't want to look at the silent figure but the unavoidable glimpse he got as he entered the room has shocked him. Avon seems so shrunken. Now that commanding will is stilled, and the leather armour removed, he can see that Avon is probably shorter and less broad across the shoulders than he is.

He really doesn't want to be here. Anywhere but here. Doesn't want to have anything to do with the treacherous... How has he let them all persuade, bully, blackmail him into coming? Why has Orac insisted that only he can help Avon? 

The room is quiet, just Orac buzzing away in the background and the regular wheeze of an elderly machine pumping something into Avon's system through a series of tubes. Probably pain killers or nutrients. The only chair is set beside the bed and if he uses it, it's position will force him to look at the man. Well he's not going to stand, be damn sure of that, so he's going to have to face him. Without a witness though. He's not having a rat in a box recording this conversation. Decisively he reaches over and removes Orac's key. The whine it gives as it shuts down sounds like an angry protest.

Vila sits back in the chair and reluctantly turns his attention to Avon. He is very pale, his face the colour of old milk and so worn and lined he can hardly believe it is actually him. How on Earth he is supposed to wake him from this coma and persuade him to join forces with Avalon is still unclear to him. 

"Just talk to him, Vila. Jog his memories about the past you both share." That's the best advice he's been given so far. Avon will be thrilled to have a little chat about the old days, he's sure. Perhaps he should remind him of some of his more distinguished enterprises: killing Dr Paxton for example. 

Now he comes to think of it, Avon's coma is nothing new. He's always shut himself away whenever he did something too ruthless for the others to accept without question. A combination of guilt and bloody mindedness he supposes but possibly just bloody-mindedness. Avon refused point blank to respond to Vila's demands for an explanation after Malador -. just shut him out, as effectively as he's doing now. So he isn't going to talk to him about Blake or whether he will join Avalon's revolution, unless the conversation is drug induced! 

Drug induced. Vila has risen with a crazy, half-formed determination to find the serum, inject Avon with it himself and force him to answer for his actions, when he is suddenly aware that Avon's eyes are open. That Avon is staring at him with the intense, uncomfortable gaze he uses to intimidate. 

"Vila. I thought you'd never come." The voice is ragged but the eyes sparkle with nervous energy and irritation as Avon struggles to raise himself. " Help me to sit up, fool," he snaps.

"And 'Good Morning' to you too," Vila snaps back, angry to find himself automatically obeying. "Aren't you supposed to be in a coma? I knew it was all a lie."

Now he is sitting upright, Avon looks more like his old self, but new lines of pain furrow his forehead and there is a greyish cast to his lips. Yet for someone who Avalon recently reported to be at the threshold of insanity, he seems surprisingly alert and focussed. He now leans stiffly forward and grasps Vila's arm in a painful, urgent grip. 

"I'm not deceiving you Vila," he rasps dangerously. " But I do need your help."

"Do you now! Let me think about it! Help the man who tried to air lock me from a shuttle and who killed my friend when he was unarmed? Hmmm...No." Vila leans back and folds his arms, enjoying the frustration that flickers over Avon's pale face.

"But you'll like the help I need, Vila." Avon tries again in a voice he probably imagines is reassuring but is so creepily unlike his usual tones and so like the voice that still haunts Vila's nightmares of Malador, that he shudders and nearly misses Avon's next startling remark. 

"I need you to kill me. Which shouldn't be too hard. After all it's why you're really here, isn't it, whatever excuses you gave yourself for coming? What you'd like to do to me if you had the guts."

"What straight away? Before I've had my dinner?" Vila's facetious reply comes automatically and covers both his shock at the unexpected request and the uncomfortable realisation that Avon might be right about his motives. That the urge to pummel and hit this man, reduce him to a bloody, whimpering pulp is only a thin layer away from realisation.

"Yes. Now." Avon ignores the sarcasm. He is seems entirely serious. "As soon as possible, Vila. You haven't any time left."

"Oh yes, good one Avon." There is an ulterior motive here, he's sure. " What exactly is it you're planning now, you devious...? I knew I shouldn't have come here."

"It's not a trick." The grip on his arm tightens fiercely, and Avon's voice matches the ferocity of the grip. "Servalan's forces will be on to us in the next 24hrs if you don't do as I ask and help me to prevent it. Blake's revolution depends on you following my instructions. And if that isn't motive enough for you, so does your own survival."

"Ow. Let go. You're bruising me. Get off, will you!" He's damned if he's going to be bullied, bossed and hurt by Avon any more. " I'll call Avalon," he threatens. " Tell her you've been faking it. See what she has to say about that. Let go of me." 

Avon ignores his protests and his grip tightens even more cruelly, "Listen," he hisses, "will you listen to me?" All his energy seems focussed into the hand and fingers that bite into Vila's arm.

"Ahhh, Avon!" Vila struggles viciously, not caring whether he hurts or injures, just determined to break that iron grip. Avon resists for a while, but he is still weak and soon Vila has forced his fingers open. Avon sinks back, the grey of his lips more pronounced, his face blanched of the little colour it had, but his eyes still spark with such urgency that Vila abandons his plan to call for help and instead leans forward to examine him closely, resentfully rubbing at his bruised arm.

"You mean it don't you," he concludes, baffled by the realisation. "You really do want me to kill you. What is it Avon? Too many deaths on your conscience to live with? Funny, I never took you for a coward but I suppose, even for a maniac, shooting your best friend three times when he wasn't carrying a gun might be the last straw."

A sound erupts from Avon. At first Vila thinks he is crying but then he recognises it as a hoarse and rusty laugh. It enrages him and his arm is drawn back to strike the helpless man before he has thought but the look in Avon's eyes stops him before he lands the blow. It is a mixture of encouragement, regret and, he realises with a jolt, fear. 

"You're scared," he accuses, dropping his arm "You say you want me to kill you but you don't really want to die do you?" 

Avon lets out a sigh, an exhalation mixing both relief and disappointment but he keeps his eyes fixed on Vila. "Probably not," he concedes, "but unfortunately there isn't a viable alternative. Though I admit," he continues, in a voice that is not quite as steady as he wishes, "I was hoping you'd provide me with a quicker death. Dying by inches while you administer a savage beating would not be my first choice for throwing off the mortal coil. And it wouldn't serve my purpose. I hope we can devise something less painful, and less time-consuming." 

"So if you don't want to die, Avon, why on Earth are you asking me to kill you? " Vila asks, bewildered . " This isn't some masochistic fantasy is it? Some crazy recompense for shooting Blake?" 

The cynical smile Vila hates so much lifts the corners of Avon's mouth again. "I thought you knew me, Vila," he purrs. " I do not need to reproach myself for what happened to Blake. I simply did what was needed to survive." 

As ever with Avon, the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes seems to belie the confidence of the words but Vila can never be sure whether he feels remorse, is capable of remorse even, or whether he really is just the cold-hearted bastard he likes to present. 

"So why the death wish then? Come on. Stop playing games and tell me straight what's going on or I'm off. I don't have to sit here while you score points off me, not anymore."

"Servalan implanted a small tracking device in my brain when I was on Terminal, "Avon speaks quickly, as if anxious to rid himself of the words, so fast that Vila struggles to take in their import. "She's been following our movements ever since. If you don't kill me, her people will use its signal to trace us here and destroy this base." Avon closes his eyes and then enquires with his patented sarcasm, " Is that straight enough for you, Vila?"

"Tracking us?" Vila knows he's gazing at Avon, mouth open, like some kind of idiot.

"You must have wondered how she kept finding us, Vila, unless you really are the fool you pretend to be. I know I did. But Orac couldn't be certain until today when he located the device. It can't be turned off," Avon explains flatly, ignoring Vila's startled exclamation "and it's too small to be removed without damaging my brain. Servalan turned me into her personal tracker and followed my trail until I led her to Blake. I'm glad she's dead..." He draws in his breath sharply and then, intensely, "Vila, I'm telling you the truth. You have to believe me."

"That's right, Servalan's dead, Avon. So how can she track us?" Vila asks stupidly.

"She can't but her followers can and will. Are." Faced with Vila's disbelief, Avon's voice becomes more frantic, desperate to be believed. "They're tracking us now Vila. Look if you won't take my word, ask Orac. The Federation will be on our doorstep within 24 hrs and you can say good by to "Victory", the "Triumph of The Honest Man" whatever nonsensical, elevated sentiment you choose to attach to defeating it. Most of you won't survive their attack and those that do will wish they had died once the Federation starts on them." He falls back, gasping.

"Okay ...Okay Avon." Vila rises, alarmed by Avon's distress and half-convinced by his angry urgency. " I'll get Avalon. She can..."

"No!" The protest is immediate. Crackling in the air. "No. Think about it Vila! The endless debates, the consultations. Time wasted debating how to remove the tracker without turning me into a vegetable. Dayna determined to protect me. We haven't the time. They'll eventually decide to risk removing it rather than kill me and, even if they get the damn thing out in time, I'll be left with damage. I can't risk it. I can't live like that. Disabled. Probably mindless." The fear this thought engenders is naked and open but Vila is determined not to be moved by it and perhaps sensing this, a vulnerable note enters Avon's voice for the first time. "Vila. It has to be now. It has to be you. Surely you see that? Vila, please."

"Is this some kind of lesson?" He is still suspicious. Avon must have some perverted reason for insisting he is the one to kill him. " Are you trying to make a point about Malador or something?Prove that given the right circumstances we are all potential killers? Get me to agree to kill you so you don't have to feel any guilt and then tell me it was all a game? Is that what you're up to?" 

Vila can't stand the helpless look of fear disfiguring Avon's usually so arrogant face. It makes him vicious. " If the only way to save us is through your death then kill yourself now and get it over with," he says cruelly. "Look! " Furiously he snatches a scalpel from a nearby dish and presses into Avon's hand, forcing his fingers to close around it. "One little slit, Avon, and it will be over. I won't call them until it's too late to save your life." Then, as Avon turns his head away, allowing the little blade to fall onto the sheet, "What's the matter? Too cowardly to do it? "

Avon flings his head round again to face him, lines of anguish contorting his features. 

"I can't Vila. Don't you understand? They didn't even leave me that. I tried it, oh many times since I killed Anna but the conditioning's too strong. They boosted my will to survive you see, to make sure I could look out for Blake. So I could make sure he didn't die on Cygnus Alpha until he'd remembered the name of the mole. I can't kill myself." Bitterly, " It's against my programming." Then, with black humour, "Ironic isn't it? I can't do it for you. If you want to survive, you'll have to give in to those base impulses you despise, just as I've been forced to, the ones you deny you have. You'll have to exchange my life for yours. Come on Vila. It's not hard. Think of it as pay back time for Malador. Kill me and live or we both die together. And if it makes you feel better, you can always console yourself that I'm just as dead, whichever you choose!" 

There is silence as Vila swallows the truth, so bitter and unwelcome, trying to find the hidden flaw, the way out, until finally he has to acknowledge that Avon is right: it's time, however unwillingly, for him to make a choice There is no other way. Either he has to kill Avon or he must accept that by refusing to do so, he is condemning himself and the others to death. A simple matter of who survives, as Avon would put it.

And he knows the choice he's going to make.

He'd like to think if it was only his life at stake he'd choose differently but he is no longer sure and anyway, it's not material to his decision. The burden the Federation has forced Avon to cart around- conditioning him to survive at any cost, even the cost of love and friendship- is horrifying. What sort of a man was Avon before they got their hands on him, he wonders? A man capable of putting others' welfare before his own? He'll never know for sure. But he does know that Vila Restall is not the sort of man to risk leaving Avon brain damaged for the chance that he and the others might survive: and that being the case, if he wants to them all to live he will have to do as Avon asks.

"So this is the way it ends," he reflects sadly. " I'd never have predicted this. Ah Gods, I'm tired. I'd kill for a drink."

He doesn't even realise he's spoken this thought aloud until he hears Avon murmur with the breath of a laugh, "If that's all it takes, Vila, I'm sure Orac could rustle you one up."

He looks down but instead of the grimly mocking smile he expects, Avon's eyes are closed and he detects wetness on the pale cheek - perspiration or tears, he can't be sure. Then the eyes open and meet his. They acknowledge silently that the decision has been made.

"So how do I do it?" Vila enquires, amused in his turn at the irony of having to ask his victim how to kill him. "I'd rather the others believe you died of natural causes. I'm not anxious to martyr myself." 

Avon smiles back, though traces of the fear and sadness lurking beneath his matter-of -fact bravado are still detectable to his friend. Oh yes, he's his friend, Vila acknowledges, even if he wishes that was not the case. He steels himself to listen without emotion to Avon's dispassionately delivered plan. 

"Orac assures me that another dose of Narcosynthonate will be enough to stop my heart and that it will arrange a temporary glitch in the electricity supply to ensure the monitors don't go off and alert the medics. We wouldn't want them rushing in to save me, wasting your efforts " Avon adds with his best gallows' humour. "To all appearances I will have died naturally from sudden cardiac arrest and they'll believe it. Especially as they've already discovered that the multiple stuns I received have weakened my heart. All you have to do is to ensure you inject me carefully, so you don't leave a tell- tale mark. Use an existing site. I assume even someone with your limited intelligence is capable of that? " Avon doesn't wait for a reply and the insult seems more routine than meant. " You can then leave me to die," he continues with that faintly detectable unease, " while you find Avalon and inform her that you managed to rouse me. Tell her that I am in full possession of my mind and that I've assured you I am willing to help her revolution. I am now sleeping again and Orac advised its best to leave me until I wake again."

Avon barely waits for Vila's affirming nod, before adding, "Oh and you can tell her I've instructed Orac to obey her orders from now on, that should do away with any immediate suspicions she might have." 

"You have told Orac to keep it's trap shut about my role in this, haven't you?" Vila interjects nervously.

"Yes of course. " Avon is irritated by the interruption and doesn't hide it. " Relax, Vila, your secret will be safe! Then, with mordant irony he continues, "Although your acting skills could let you down. You do realise that when they eventually discover my corpse, you'll have to pretend to be as grief-stricken as the rest of them?" 

"I can manage that. And don't worry, I won't leave you until you are dead, Avon. I promise you you won't die alone." Vila speaks to the unease he can see rather than the derisive bravado of the voice and lays a reassuring hand over Avon's.

" Very touching." The tone remains abrasive but the hand twitches slightly under Vila's and Avon does not pull away from its touch. Wearily, he closes his eyes again and commands softly, "Get on with it, will you, Vila? You're wasting time." 

\---

When it's over, Vila releases his hand from Avon's and rubs it vigorously. Once he can feel it again, on impulse he bends over Avon's body and kisses the cold forehead. The eyes, usually so expressive, stare at him blank and fixed, and although he tries to close them, they defy his attempts. How like Avon to face death with his eyes open and to refuse others the comfort of believing him to be resting at peace. 

Vila sighs deeply. He's the only one left now of Blake's original seven, he realises, apart from Orac. Who would have given favourable odds on that? As he straightens up, he feels a familiar stab of pain in his stomach. It's a pain he suspects that no amount of medication will take away.

***

"Avon's sleeping now," he tells Avalon, when he joins her and the others in the Rec Room, where they have been waiting. " Orac was right. Talking about the past brought him out of his coma. He seems sane enough. Well as sane as Avon ever is. I guess it would take more than a bit of torture and a bucketful of guilt to drive him mad. "

Dayna exclaims joyfully and starts for the door but he restrains her, holding her back as he explains, " Now, there's no point in disturbing him until the morning. Let him be, Dayna. He's very tired and if we pressure him he might withdraw again. Leave him alone to rest."

"Vila's right, Dayna," Avalon concurs. "we don't want to undo his good work."

No indeed, he thinks with bitter humour. Aloud he tells them, " Orac's monitoring his vital signs, so Avon's in good hands. He'll be your figurehead, Avalon... oh, and he's ordered the little rat to respond to your voice. "

"That's excellent news, Vila. Well done. I'll get the medical team to check Avon later and tomorrow we'll discuss how we're going to bring down the Federation." 

There's general excitement in the room. Vila wonders if he should cheer but isn't quite up to it, so he settles for a slightly sickly grin. Avalon beams back at him, and includes the others in her gaze as she tells them, "Blake would have been so proud of you all. Now, Vila what can I offer you for refreshment after all your efforts?"

" Thought you'd never ask! " he replies, falling easily into the foolish persona they expect and which he has hidden behind for so long. "Make mine an adrenalin and soma. A large one! I deserve a very large glass indeed." 

***

The atmosphere in the Rec Room is up beat and relieved, the prospect of success energising them all. He sits quietly aside from the jubilation and congratulations, nursing his drink, waiting for the interruption which will come any moment now. He smiles a little to himself as he watches Tarrant exercising his boyish charm on some of the younger, female rebels, recalling Avon's last sardonic command:

"Any idiot can be a figurehead Vila. Make sure they offer the job to Tarrant. He's earned himself a little heartache."

Unseen, he raises his glass in a silent toast: 

To Avon, that most reluctant of rebels: who may have arranged to end his life out of love and guilt- or simply because he could see no other choice. And to those who still live thanks to Avon's sacrifice, and who may even win Blake's fight; perhaps, though he would have poured scorn on the idea, Avon's fight too.

A soft yet urgent voice, a sudden hush broken by an anguished,"Oh no," from Dayna, warns him it's beginning. 

It is surprising, he reflects, schooling his face to express disbelief, how often in the pursuit for the triumph of the honest man, he has been forced to lie.

With Avon's cynical laughter reverberating in his head, he moves to join the others.


End file.
